“Blair, where are you?”
The long green drapes moved, and she crawled toward them, pulled the heavy panel aside. He lay in a ball, arms fastened around his knees, face buried. She reached out and touched him. He flinched, hugged himself tighter.
“Too much blood. Too much. Bastards. Get away. Get away.”
“Blair, stop it. Now.” She grabbed his wrists, wrestled them away from the iron-hard grasp. “I’m here. Oh, please listen to me.”
“I think he’s dead. I meant… I tried.” He collapsed.
Lifting him by the shoulders, she slid down so she could place his head in her lap. With trembling fingers she rubbed his temples, then brushed his hair back. His eyes were squeezed shut. He had obviously crawled to the door, shut it, then made his way behind the drapes.
Lips close to his ear, she whispered, “You’re safe. We are together. Everything is all right. I love you. Listen to me, you are safe.”
He stirred then, and appeared to come to himself.
Annie hurried into the room carrying a basket. “Here’s your food. How exciting. A winter picnic.” She stopped midway, gaze sliding from the empty wheelchair to Rowena sitting on the floor rocking Blair. “Oh, no. What happened? Shall I get Grady? Simmons?”
“Yes, both, if you please. Tell them he is fine, we just need help getting him back into the chair.”
The girl dropped the basket and headed for the door.
“Annie?” Rowena called. Blair moved, this time said her name.
“Please, don’t alarm them. He is fine. Right?”
“Fine. Yes’m. He is fine.” She was gone.
“I am fine, you know,” he said in a normal tone. “However, my damned leg hurts. I guess I fell out of the chair.”
She hugged him, kissed him, hugged him some more. “Yes, I guess that is what happened. Just lie still until Simmons gets here to help you up.”
Simmons came into the room, long strides all that revealed his concern. “Oh, my, mum. Whatever happened?”
“It wasn’t her, it was me. I thought I could stand, and it didn’t work out so well. If you could just help me back into the chair, I would appreciate it.”
At his side immediately, Simmons helped him to sit, and Rowena rolled out of the way to stand beside them. “Shall we wait for Grady?”
“He’s not here. I sent him to town.” Simmons turned Blair around, positioned himself so he could get behind him, and lifted him to a standing position. “Just lend us a shoulder, mum,” he said.
Rowena nodded and stepped under Blair’s right arm. “Don’t put any weight on your leg.”
“I know.” Blair sounded angry, but she knew it was more at himself than at her. “Just get me back in the chair. We have a picnic to go to.”
“What’s that, sir?” Simmons grunted and maneuvered Blair so he could be lowered into the chair. “Would you like some morphine?”
“No. Not now. After we have our picnic,” he said, catching her hand and holding it tight, while glaring up at Simmons.
“Blair, we can do it another day.”
“No, we cannot. We will do it today. Now.”
“Shall I help, mum?” Simmons stood a distance back from the two of them.
“No, you shall not,” Blair said, then more softly, “Thank you, Simmons. It’s all right. You may go now.”
She smiled when Simmons glanced at her for approval before leaving the room.
Blair caught the look, frowned, then grinned. “Well, I see you have him under your thumb.”
“We talked.” She leaned down and kissed him on the cheek.
He turned, captured her mouth with his. Held her there for a long moment. Her touch drove away his earlier relapse, so brief yet so painful. And irritating as hell. When would it stop? This returning to the bloody battlefields and the memories of killing. It was not like a memory but more like he’d been transported back and dropped in the middle of the fighting. If he could only forget those he’d killed with bayonets and rifles. Up close so he had to watch their faces as the life bled out of them. Shaking away the thoughts, he deepened the kiss until their tongues met and his desire stirred. All he wanted to think of was this beautiful woman and how very much he cared for her. How much she appeared to love him.
Even as they parted, the doubts returned. Doubts that she would remain. Fear that something would happen to snatch her away from him. He had to stop this, yet when the doubts came he fell prey to them.
“Well, that was nice,” she said. “Let’s get into our coats and get outside before our picnic goes stale. You sure you’re okay to go?”
“I’m very sure. Give me my coat.”
“I brought a heavy cape for you. It will be easier for you to slip into.” She draped it over his shoulders. “Lean forward, and I’ll tuck it in.”
Once both were all bundled up against the cold, she set the basket in his lap and together they maneuvered the heavy wheelchair through the doors and outside. Someone, probably Grady, had shoveled snow away from the front portico and made a path to the barn. Out of the shadows of the castle and into the sunlight, she stopped the chair and took the basket from his lap. The snow on either side of the path was almost three feet high, so she set it there and made a table with the cloth Annie had spread over the food.
She laid out the cheese and biscuits, apples and wine. After she fashioned a seat for herself on the shelf of snow, padding it with a small buggy rug she’d included in their wraps, they both helped themselves.
“I’ve never had a picnic in the snow.” She took a bite of cheese and sipped at the wine.
“I don’t believe I’ve ever had a picnic at all,” he said.
“No? My goodness. I remember, before Mama and Papa were killed, we used to go on a picnic almost every Sunday when the weather allowed.”
“How old were you when they died?”
“Eleven. Wilda was ten. Tyra’s parents were with them. She was only five. It was a family tragedy. They all died, and my grandmother passed soon after. She couldn’t bear the loss of both her girls. They had been cast out of the family because they married out of their faith. So that made it doubly difficult for Grandmother.”
“It must have been very difficult for you to lose your parents that way. Were you close?”
She chewed up a cracker and washed it down with more wine. Nodded her head. “Yes, very. All of us. Mama and her sister being ostracized by the family brought us all closer, I think.”
He studied her face, a remembered sadness in her eyes, skin flushed by the cold. How very beautiful she was, a beauty so different from Wilda’s, yet so striking. And Tyra, the freckled tomboy, but with features much like her cousins’.
“I shall never forget seeing you all for the first time,” he said, and reached to take her hand. “Like three gorgeous flowers, more beautiful than all the roses in the garden. Yet so different from one another. Until I arrived at St. Ann’s, I thought Marguerite must be exaggerating about those three stunning Duncan girls. She just wouldn’t shut up, or leave me alone until I paid you a visit. And as I had to return to England to get business settled for the permanent move to America, I was determined to find out just how much our dear Marguerite may have exaggerated.” He laughed. “As it turned out, even her words of praise did not prepare me for you three.”
The wind stirred around the corner, catching a strand of her golden hair and tugging it from the muffler she’d draped over her head. He eased the strip of blue wool away, so the sun gleamed on the pale locks.
She smiled. “And I remember that day well, too. The moment I set eyes on you. You kissed our hands one by one, then gazed up into our eyes and greeted us. I fell in love with you. My heart, my soul, my mind, all fell under your spell.”
He kissed her palm, then the inner spot of her wrist where her heart beat. “I’m so sorry, so very sorry. I don’t suppose I’ll ever be able to explain why I chose your sister to marry, rather than you. Not so you will believe me. But I swear, Rowena, I
swear from that moment I knew it was you. And I also knew whoever I chose would have to be tough, hard, that I would hurt that one in so many ways it would be impossible to count them.”
“And so you chose to hurt Wilda, rather than me?”
“That’s not really fair. I saw in Wilda a toughness that would rebuff me. I wanted to bring you all here, give you a chance at having a decent life. Marguerite had told me you were having it hard there, and once I got you to America, then you could all make your own choices. Wilda’s turned out to be someone other than me. Want to know a secret? I would not have married her, even if she had agreed to go through with it. I made sure she would not. And now she is happy.”
She might never believe him, but he had wanted for so long to tell her this. And now that she professed to love him, it should be safe to do so. He watched her closely, seeing her expression go from doubt to pleasure.
“Odd thing is, I find you to be tougher than either of them.”
“I don’t want you ever to lie to me, but I know sometimes small lies are necessary to prevent hurting someone you love. You’re not lying to me now, are you?”
He raised a hand and looked her straight in the eyes. “I swear I’m not lying. I’m so sorry for making you feel so bad. I never thought to have you, never dreamed we would be together. But I’ve loved you since that day in the garden, and I’ve so feared hurting you.”
“Well, you did. You hurt me when you chose Wilda, but I guess I understand. What was it you saw in her that you didn’t see in me? I’m tough, too, as you say. Both of us survived our parents’ death, and the terrible life at St. Ann’s. That made us tough.”
“Something in your eyes. It’s there yet today. Something that told me you had been hurt so badly by so much more than their death. I didn’t want to add to your pain. And now that I’ve seen your back, I know I was right. Can you tell me who did that to you? And why?”
She lowered her head and stared down at the snow. His heart hammered for fear he had pushed her too far. That now she would turn away.
When she looked up, tears stood in her eyes. “You were right. But let’s not discuss it today. Let’s make this a happy day. Our first picnic. And every day will be happy from now on.” She grinned at him. “Please stop trying to send me away. It is useless, for I’ll not go, you know.”
Satisfied, he nodded. Could it be that he had at last found someone he could be happy with? Someone who could accept him and his mad wanderings? Maybe help him put all that behind him? Other men went to war and came home to lead normal lives. What was different about him that he had to go through all this torment? Perhaps his father was right and he was weak, not really a man. He would strive to prove him wrong. For her and for himself.
They remained outside until their toes and fingers were quite cold. Her nose grew red, and he cupped his hand over it to warm it. She re-tucked the blankets around his legs since he was not able to pull on breeches over the cumbersome splint on his leg. The pain grew worse, begging for morphine, but he did his best to ignore it. At last, they agreed it was time to gather up the remnants of their picnic, including an empty wine bottle, and go back inside.
A worried Simmons greeted them before they closed the front door. He insisted on wheeling Blair back into his room and helping the couple peel off their outdoor clothing.
“You should be in bed, sir,” he told Blair. “And it’s past time for your medicine.”
“Thank you. I believe you’re right. Is Grady back?”
“No.”
“What do you suppose is taking him so long?” Blair asked.
“It has been a long while.” Simmons went to the window and gazed out. “I think I see a wagon coming now. It must be him. He had to pick up feed, and Annie had a long list. Seems she’s wanting to do some Christmas baking. Hmm, there’s someone following them on horseback.”
“Perhaps it’s Tyra,” Blair said.
Rowena beamed. “Oh, how fun. Annie’s teaching me how to cook, so perhaps she’ll let Tyra and me help with the baking.”
“Preparing yourself to be a wife?” Blair teased, tensing against the increasing pain.
“Why, yes, come to think of it. For the lucky man I married.”
How odd that he had asked her to be his wife when he had vowed to wait until he was back on his feet and the darkness that so often crept into his life had vanished. He would ask her soon what had brought the wedding about. But he had to be careful not to hurt her. If only he could remember those few days before the accident. If only he could believe that creature she spoke of, who sounded like nothing more than a gypsy fortuneteller, could actually help him heal. But he would see her, for Rowena, and he would do his best.
After he fell asleep under the influence of the morphine, she hurried to the kitchen to talk to Annie about the Christmas baking. Grady was there, unloading crates of kitchen supplies through the back door. He glanced at Rowena.
“How is our captain?”
“He’s asleep now, but we had a grand time today.”
“Yes,” Annie said. “I forgot to tell you. They had a picnic in the snow. What fun that must’ve been.”
“In the snow? Wonder you didn’t freeze your arses off.”
“Grady,” Annie scolded, but she laughed.
Easy to see these two were growing closer by the day.
“Who was following you when you arrived?” Rowena asked, helping Annie restock the pantry shelves with flour and sugar, spices and condiments.
“Oh, that’s Sheriff Calumet of Hays City. He wanted to talk to Simmons and the captain about the shooting.”
“Where is he now? Blair is sleeping. I’d better see to it he doesn’t disturb him.” She started across the kitchen.
“Simmons will see to that, I’m sure. They were talking at the door, and it appeared the captain’s guardian was not about to allow him inside.”
Rowena smiled. She should have known Simmons would take care of his charge. From down the hall came voices raised in argument, and then Simmons hustled toward them, eyes large in his thin face. “He says he has to speak to Mr. Blair and will not take no for an answer. Grady, can’t you do something? The ruffian pulled a gun on me.”
“What?” Grady pushed past Simmons, followed by Rowena and Annie.
The sheriff had moved into Blair’s room and stood in the center of the floor, hands on his hips staring at a sleeping Blair. At least he had holstered his gun.
“Say, Sheriff,” Grady said, voice low but firm. “He’s not well and was just given his morphine. You’ll not get anything out of him for hours.”
“Will if I chose to arrest him and take him to town.”
“You can’t do that,” Rowena and Annie both said in unison.
“I expect I can. He’s going to be charged with the murder of Barton Crouch.”
Heart hammering in her temples till the room spun, Rowena grabbed Grady’s arm. “You have to stop him. Please. Blair didn’t murder anyone. And he must not be dragged off to jail.”
Chapter Twelve
Rowena’s Journal
December 3, 1875
It is impossible to believe that the sheriff plans to arrest Blair for murder. Barton Crouch was a brutal, evil man who came into our home intending to harm poor little Lizza who suffered from his beatings since they married. Sheriff Calumet tells us that Crouch’s father is a colonel in the Army, stationed at Fort Hays. He has a great deal of influence and is demanding that the person who shot his son be made to pay. How Calumet knows that Blair took the fatal shot is beyond all of us. No one who was there has opened their mouth to implicate him.
Luckily Simmons and Grady were able to convince the sheriff that Blair cannot travel. Meanwhile, we will have to find a way to clear his name before he is taken to the jail in Hays. No one has yet told Blair, and I fear that when he hears this he will relapse. Grady offered to go fetch Hildegarde Smythe, with a note from Blair that he wants to undergo her treatments and will pay her extra to come to Fairh
aven. We must move forward with this in the hopes that his name can be cleared in the meantime.
Today Annie, Lizza, and I will begin baking fruit cakes for the holidays. Annie says she will get Nellie to help with measuring out all the ingredients. The new girl begged Grady to take her back home to the farm her parents have near Marysville. Said there was too much excitement at Fairhaven, and swore she saw a ghost in the west wing. Must have been one of Blair’s visitors.
He wants to have a true Victorian Christmas Party at Fairhaven this year, and plans to invite everyone in Victoria to the celebration the week prior to our family gathering, so we are all in a dither. I can scarcely believe it, and must try to put my worries about his impending arrest aside and capture the holiday spirit.
At St. Ann’s the birth of Christ was a somber event. We contemplated our souls, prayed a lot, and confessed our sins. We were not allowed to celebrate or have a birthday party for our savior. I vaguely recall my family’s Christmas gatherings and look forward to this one. Fairhaven already looks festive, with the hanging of wreaths which Lizza has taken upon herself to make from cedar boughs, bows, and berries. Nellie is helping her with some of the stitchery. Grady gathers what she needs and she sits at the end of the kitchen table every day making them. She has changed so much since escaping her dreadful life, as have we all.
I do not know what we would do without Grady.
After having breakfast with Blair in the study, Rowena asked if he’d like to go to the kitchen to witness her efforts at baking.
He laughed. “I think I will stay here and read for a while. That book has me hooked. Perhaps we could have tea together?”
“Of course. I’ll prepare it and bring it to you myself.” She went to his side and kissed him quite thoroughly. “If you need anything, just pull the bell rope and someone will come running.”
“Can we have a code so that if what I need is you, I can send you the message?” Before she could reply, he said, “Have I told you how lovely you look today in that blue dress? It matches your eyes.” He gestured with a hand. “And you’ve rid yourself of all that folderol.”
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